


We're in a bit of a mess

by myrish_lace



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, Awkwardness, Consent Issues, Couch Cuddles, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Jon and Sansa Are Not Related, Jon is a gentleman, One Shot, Theon's better than he seems I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 12:48:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12507788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrish_lace/pseuds/myrish_lace
Summary: Jon Snow and Sansa Stark are strangers who somehow wake up snuggled together after a party. Neither of them can remember a thing. Awkwardness ensues, until Theon shows up and acts like an ass. Jon sets him straight, and Sansa works up the courage to ask for Jon's number.





	We're in a bit of a mess

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amymel86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/gifts).



> Based on Amymel86's tumblr prompt of a similar description. This got deeper into consent issues than I planned, but then again, I'm kind of obsessed with that stuff, so here we are :)

Jon”s warm - that delicious sort of warm he gets when he's wrapped in his winter blanket. His head’s aching, but that's normal after one of Theon’s Parties That Start Well Before Everyone Gets Trashed. He opens one bleary eye, expecting to see the grey walls of his bedroom.

His whole world suddenly shifts and skews sideways. Because he's _not_ in his bedroom, he's sitting on Theon's overstuffed blue futon. And it's not a blanket draped around him, it’s a woman. She's snug against his chest and his arm’s draped over her shoulder. Her hair tickles his nose.

His mouth tastes like that god-awful punch Theon served, but the woman's hair smells clean, like citrus, and he almost sniffs it before he stops. He tries to disentangle himself but she only murmurs and snuggles _closer_ , which sets his pulse racing.

They fit together like puzzle pieces - her head’s tucked under his chin and her hand’s resting on his thigh. There's a corner of his mind that wants to relish how glorious she feels pressed against him, how right. But he swats the impulse away, and assesses the situation.

She's gorgeous, all long legs and silken red hair. She has a smattering of freckles on her nose and her eyelashes are long enough to brush her cheeks. She's curled up tight enough that her breath ghosts over his neck.

They're both fully clothed, and she seems peaceful in his arms.

He has no clue who she is.

He doesn't know what's going on here, but Theon’s probably behind it. And if he can't remember her - and it's pretty hard to believe he wouldn't, she's stunning, even in the dim basement light - she might not remember who _he_ is, and he definitely doesn't want to be the perv at the party.

But every time he tries to carefully extricate himself, she keeps cuddling up to him, like he’s her favorite stuffed toy, until he doesn't have anywhere to put his hands that wouldn't be blatantly inappropriate.

If he's going to retain any semblance of being a gentleman, he needs to wake her up.

So he gently shakes her. She stiffens, then jerks. Sudden they're whirling like two alarmed monkeys as they break apart.

“Sorry-”

“No really I-”

“My fault-”

“I didn't mean-”

“I never do this,” they finish in unison, as they each shoot to opposite sides of the futon.

She’s clutching a couch cushion to her chest. Her blue eyes are wide.

 _She's nervous. Say something_. “I’m sorry, I tried to - I'm sure it's really uncomfortable to wake up with someone you don't know…”

“I’m Sansa,” she says softly, though she keeps her grip on the pillow.

“I’m Jon. I promise I tried to scoot out but-"

“I held onto you, didn't I.” Sansa sighs. “I do that, my last boyfriend hated it.”

Jon’s poleaxed at the thought of a boyfriend who wouldn't count himself lucky to have Sansa wrapped around him at night.

“You were very...warm,” she says, and blushes. It's the prettiest sight Jon's seen all year. It's been a rough year, admittedly, but it would be one of the prettiest sights in any year.

Then she blinks rapidly and presses her wrist to her temple. She probably has the same blinding headache he does.

“Would you like some aspirin?” She nods gratefully. Jon braces himself. Hopefully he won’t fall over when he stands up. 

“You two dating yet?” Theon’s standing in front of him with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. “C’mon, you're available, she's hot…” Theon wets his lips as he glances at Sansa. “You both passed out, figured I'd do you a favor and stack her on top of you.”

Sansa shrinks into the couch. She looks back and forth between Jon and Theon. Jon’s stomach sinks.

 _She’s stuck in a room with two guys she doesn't know_.

He hopes to God a friend brought Sansa to the party. Because Jon wouldn’t hurt Sansa, and neither would Theon. But there’s no reason _Sansa_ should believe that, especially given Theon’s shenanigans.

Jon glares at Theon, then turns back to Sansa. "Did you come with someone?”

“My friend Marg. Here, let me see where she is.”

Jon almost sags with relief when Sansa finds her phone next to the futon and starts texting with Marg. At least there's one person in this house she feels safe with.

“She's on her way down in a minute,” Sansa says.

“Okay. That’s – that’s great. Theon and I are going to search for some aspirin.”

Jon grabs Theon’s shoulder, harder than he needs to probably, and yanks him towards the bathroom.

“You’d better have a goddammed explanation, Greyjoy,” he hisses. Theon’s giving him his best _who, me?_ expression when Jon slams the flimsy door shut. He corners in the tiny space, shoving him against the basin sink.

“What the fuck, man? You can't just do that to people! Did you see her? She's scared, she doesn't know me!”

“Hey, you're a decent bloke,” Theon protests.

“And how's she supposed to know that? Huh? How could she? Am I wearing decent bloke flannel?”

Theon smirks. “No need to shout, mate. Besides...” He pokes Jon’s shirt. “They are nice reds and greens, Snow.”

“Don’t ever do that again. Ever. Again. Got it?”

“Fine, fine, stop shoving, I won’t, I promise.” Theon digs out the aspirin and fills a cup with water. When they step back into the basement, a brunette who must be Marg is sitting next to Sansa, chatting with her. Theon takes the opportunity to scurry up the stairs.

Marg pats Sansa on the shoulder and murmurs that she’ll pull the car around to the front door. “I don’t want you walking far when you’re in this state, dear. And it's freezing outside."

She points at Jon. “Are you comfortable here with him?”

“Yeah, I am.”

Jon lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He hands Sansa the aspirin and water.

They make a few minutes of halting conversation while Marg gets the car.

He confesses he shouldn't really be here tonight. He's taking a chemistry exam tomorrow.

She confides she shouldn’t have come either. She had only planned to stop by after dance class with Marg for a few drinks. She's got a dress rehearsal tomorrow.

Jon rubs the back of his neck. “Guess we’re both in a bit of a mess.”

The corner of Sansa’s mouth quirks up. "Seems like it. Hey, by the way, I...heard you, with Theon. Thanks. For being that way. Most guys wouldn't give it a second thought. It was sweet. It was sweet of you to be so protective.”

Jon's not sure what to say. He figures it's basic human decency to get riled up about two unconscious people getting thrown together.

Sansa sets down her water and takes a deep breath. “So, um, would you like to get coffee with me? When we've both slept it off I mean?“ She glances at her clothes, twists her hands together. “I promise I clean up well.”

She's in black yoga pants and a stretchy purple top. She's perfect. Jon's heart might stop if he sees her in a dress.

He clears his throat. “You sure?”

“I’m sure. Besides.” She reaches over tentatively and fingers the hem of his shirt. “Decent bloke flannel.”

She breaks into a small smile. Jon knows he's well and truly in it now, because he'd happily drown in her blue eyes. He smiles back. 

His head’s pounding, but his heart's pounding harder as he gives her his number.

He doesn't ask for hers. She's had enough of him thrust on her for one night. He walks her up the stairs and gives her an awkward wave as she pulls on her coat and white knit hat.  She waves too. He stands in the doorway, until Marg’s taillights are gone.

***

Theon’s staring at his linoleum kitchen floor the next morning, trying to decide whether it's worth it to rummage around for an ice pack in the freezer. He rubs his shoulder.  C _hrist,_ Jon's strong when he’s fired up.

Then Marg finally calls.

"Where the hell were you? You were supposed to ring last night!"

“Cheer up Theon, it worked.” Margaery sounds downright chipper over the phone.  Then again, his improv class partner always sounds chipper. 

“Is your friend all right?”

“She's fine. Sleeping it off.”

“Probably bloody well hates me,” he grumbles. 

“You were perfect,” she gushes. “Sansa filled me in. Just the right amount of skeeviness.”

Theon rolls his eyes. “Thanks for that. Look,  I've had my shady moments, but even I wouldnt toss two drunk strangers on top of each other and call it a night.” He opens the freezer door. 

“But they weren't strangers because _we_ knew them. I know Sansa's a sweet girl who's had bad luck, and you know Jon's a stand-up guy who wouldn't take advantage.”

“Remind me why we didn't just set them up on, oh, you know, a _date_?”

“How many dates has Jon cancelled at the last minute the past year?”

Theon sighs. “A dozen. At least. Every one I've set him up on.” He sinks heavily into a chair and drapes the ice pack on his tender muscles.

“And Sansa won't even consider dating. Took all my cajoling to persuade her to show up tonight. Nevermind the pep talk I had to give her so she'd ask for Jon's number. Now Sansa knows that Jon is the kind of guy who'd get furious and defend her honor when she's in a bad spot.”

Theon grits his teeth. “That we put her in. Mostly me.”

“Exactly!” Marg trills.

Again, positively chipper.

Theon runs a hand over his face. “I’m not sure why I thought this was a good idea.”

Marg huffs. “Jon was never going to get over Ygritte, and Sansa was never going to get over Joffrey. Okay, maybe we crossed a line or two, but they can thank us at their wedding.”

***

It's not quite a thank you, but Jon and Sansa do laugh when Marg works the story into her maid of honor speech (she glosses over the elaborate setup, much to Theon’s relief). They even ham it up once Marg is finished, by leaning on each other, pretending to fall blissfully asleep in each other's arms. Theon claps along with the rest of the crowd. He's definitely not tearing up. Just has something manly in his eye. Two people who couldn't trust the world, learning they could trust each other. 

Okay, fine, maybe it's thanks enough.


End file.
